Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father yelled at me.
"Can't you do anything right?"

Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly
man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my
throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle. "I
saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving."

My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really
felt. Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home, I
left dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts.

Dark heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of
distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him?

Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon. He had enjoyed being
outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of
nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions and had often
placed. The shelves in his house had been filled with trophies that
attested to his prowess.

The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a
heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside
alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased
him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had
done as a younger man.

Four days after his 67th birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance
sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep
blood and oxygen flowing. At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an
operating room. He was lucky; he survived. But something inside dad
died. His zest for life was gone.

He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers
of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of
visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.

My husband, Dick, and I asked dad to come live with us on our small
farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him
adjust. Within a week after he moved in I regretted the invitation. It
seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did.

I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on
Dick. We began to bicker and argue. Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor
and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling
appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God
to soothe Dad's troubled mind. But the months wore on and God was silent.

A raindrop struck my cheek. I looked up into the gray sky. Somewhere up
there was "God". Although I believe a Supreme Being had created the
universe, I had difficulty believing that God cared about the tiny human
beings on this earth. I was tired of waiting for a God who didn't
answer. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it.

The next afternoon I sat down with the phone book and Methodically
called each of the Mental Heath clinics listed the yellow pages. I
explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered. In
vain. Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly
exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the
article." I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable
study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment
for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically
when they were given responsibility for a dog.

I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out
questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels The odor of
disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each
contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black
dogs, spotted dogs; all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each
one but rejected one after the other for various reasons - too big, too
small, too much hair.

As I neared the last pen, a dog in the shadows of the far corner
struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the pen and sat down. It
was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a
caricature of the breed. Years had etched his face and muzzle with
shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it
was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they
beheld me unwaveringly.

I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?" The officer looked,
then shook his head in puzzlement. "He's a funny one. Appeared out of
nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring
someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and
we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly.
As the words sank in, I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're
going to kill him?"

"Ma'am", he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for
every unclaimed dog." I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes
awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said.

I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached
the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car
when dad shuffled out onto the front porch. "Ta-da! Look what I got for
you, dad!" I said excitedly. Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in
disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And, I would
have picked out a better specimen that that bag of bones. Keep it! I
don't want it! Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back into the house.

Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded
into my temples. "You'd better get used to him, dad. He's staying!" Dad
ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed. At those words Dad
whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and
blazing with hate. We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when
suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad
and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.
Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion
replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then dad
was on his knees, hugging the animal.

That was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the
pointer Cheyenne. Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They
spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments
on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to
attend Sunday services together, dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying
quietly at his feet.

Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's
bitterness faded and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then, late one
night I was startled to feel Cheyenne's cold nose burrowing through our
bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke
Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed,
his face serene, but his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.

Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne
lying dead beside dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he
had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I
silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring dad's
peace of mind.

The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks
like the way I feel, I thought as I walked down the aisle to the pews
reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends dad and
Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It
was a tribute to both dad and the dog who had changed his life. And then
the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Be not forgetful to entertain
strangers". "I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.

For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not
seen before; the sympathetic voice that had read the right
article...Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter...his
calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father...and the proximity
of their deaths.

And I suddenly understood. I knew God had answered my prayers after all.

Here I was, enjoying crying my eyes out here in my cube at work over your BEAUTIFUL and loving tribute to the bond between mankind & dog when some insensitive clod came in and spoiled it!!! ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH!

I have to interject a joke here or I'll start crying again.

Beautifully written, tenderly conveyed. Thank you for sharing such an intimate, inspiring family story.

Well, after the day I had....That just topped it all off. Now I can't breath through my nose. My eyes are swelled almost shut and I'd like to kick the world in the butt. Instead, I want to thank Deb for the flowers and a kind thought. Rest in peace, Hesperus. Thank you Dr Karen and Lorie. Arda out in the Swamp